


double play

by addandsubtract



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Double Penetration in One Hole, Los Angeles Dodgers, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: “Calm down,” Kiké says, slapping Corey on the thigh. “It’s gonna be fine.”





	double play

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  everyone loves a good DP (double penetration)
> 
> thanks to ohtempora for all her help and insight! this is set slightly in the future so sorry and also i hope i'm not a jinx. also, uh, hello baseball people.

“Calm down,” Kiké says, slapping Corey on the thigh. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Kiké is doing his best to keep Corey calm, but he’s not entirely sure where to start. Corey blushes too much. His face is too open. He makes it too easy, and when Chase comes in and sees him, he’s going to know exactly what Corey is thinking — which, based on his expression, is something close to _oh fuck this is really happening_.

“You say that now,” Corey says, but Kiké shrugs. They’ve gotten this far. Corey is half naked, his mouth is pretty pink already, and there are a couple of red marks on his neck and collarbone from Kiké’s teeth. Being here is harder for him than it is for Kiké, and that’s giving Kiké something else to think about besides what Chase is doing in the bathroom down the hall.

They both probably know what he’s doing, but Kiké isn’t mentioning that, just for sanity’s sake.

“You’re out of the sling, and Chase is basically retired,” Kiké says, being reasonable. He runs his fingers underneath the waistband of Corey’s briefs. “Is there going to be a better time?”

Corey makes a grumpy noise, the kind where it’s likely that he’s thinking about how Chase might not be back at all next year, and how much he would hate that. Kiké lets his finger inch over the cut of Corey’s hip, the tiny incision scar from his surgery earlier in the season, and he shivers, letting Kiké grab his attention again. They’ve been in Chase’s guest room for half an hour, making out on Chase’s stupid floral comforter, but Chase has been gone too long, and Corey is getting antsy. Kiké would be too if he didn’t have Corey to focus on. It’s hard to forget that he’s older than Corey, and equally hard not to feel somewhat protective about him, even given what they’ll be doing whenever Chase is done “cleaning up.”

“C’mon,” Kiké says, wheedling, and then leans down to put his mouth sloppily on Corey’s cheek. “Do you want to go? We can go.”

Kiké catches Corey’s eye roll in his peripheral vision, and that makes him feel better, despite himself. If Corey can be an asshole about this maybe he won’t totally freak out. Kiké wonders if it’s that they’re here at all, or that Chase asked them to be. He wonders if it’s that they’re both here, instead of Corey alone.

He slides his mouth over Corey’s cheek, catching Corey’s lower lip between his teeth, and then Corey seems to give in, opening his mouth so Kiké can properly kiss him. Kiké is almost as naked as Corey is, except that he’s wearing socks, so when he shifts on the mattress, half-covering Corey with his body, Corey’s skin is hot against his chest and ribs.

“Careful,” Corey says, muffled against Kiké’s mouth. Kiké is doing his best not to jostle Corey too much — they really do need him for next year — but this is also probably why Chase is going to do most of the work. Caution isn’t exactly one of Kiké’s most developed character traits.

Corey loosens up as they kiss, his fingers pressing into Kiké’s shoulders, the muscles of Kiké‘s back, his mouth wet and languid, but when the door clicks open he stiffens all over.

He’s still mostly hard, so Kiké isn’t that worried about it. He pulls away to look at Corey’s face, the twist of his mouth, as he stares at Chase. When Kiké sneaks a glance over his shoulder, he can see why — Chase is totally naked, standing casually in the doorway.

“You don’t have to stop,” Chase says. His tone is perfectly normal, like he’s talking about batting practice. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Kiké is close enough to hear the little breath Corey lets out, and he grinds his hips down as a distraction. As if anything could distract Corey from naked Chase Utley.

“Is that your way of complimenting my ass?” Kiké asks, wiggling suggestively, which wrings a dry chuckle out of Chase. The shirt Kiké wore here, the one with Chase’s face on it, is on the floor. Corey wears his hero worship on his body, in the overeager movement of his hands, his quick smile, but Kiké has his own way of dealing with the elemental force that is Chase. Mostly: if he makes light of it, it can’t hurt him.

“That’s certainly part of it,” Chase says. He pushes off the doorframe, walking closer to the bed. Corey is like a strung bow pulled taut, and if Kiké didn’t want to be here as much as he does he’d think maybe he should leave them alone. The truth is that he’s not selfless enough. He’s not here as a buffer. Chase asked him, too.

“Tell Corey to relax,” Kiké says.

“Relax,” Chase says, obedient, and bends down to kiss Corey. Kiké watches the tendons in Corey’s neck flex as he tries not to arch up into it, and then Chase puts a hand on Corey’s throat, stroking, and Corey sags. Kiké shifts until he’s straddling Corey’s hips properly, pushing his hands up over Corey’s chest, thumbs pressing into his nipples, rubbing just this side of rough. Corey is so easy, already pink from cheeks to navel, and he makes a noise against Chase’s mouth.

When Chase pulls away, Corey’s mouth is even redder, his eyes half-lidded, but Kiké doesn’t get much time to look before Chase is leaning in to kiss him next. Chase’s mouth is firm, confident, and Kiké lets him control the pace. When Chase licks into Kiké’s mouth, Kiké’s fingers dig harder into Corey’s chest, enough to make him whine.

“Fuck,” Kiké says. Chase has kissed him before, hurried in Kiké’s hotel room after a series sweep against the Mets in June, and again less than a week ago, pressed against the hallway wall when they officially made the playoffs. A few times, but not enough. It’s different feeling Corey struggle not to move underneath Kiké’s thighs, wondering if they’ve hooked up before, and when. Kiké didn’t think he’d care. He isn’t jealous, but he wants to know.

“Let’s get Corey up against the headboard,” Chase says. He’s cupping the back of Corey’s head but looking straight at Kiké.

“I’m here and I can talk, you know,” Corey says, but there’s no bite to it, probably because of the tender way Chase is touching him.

Kiké nods, sliding off of Corey’s hips, urging Corey up and moving. He scoots back, and Kiké snags his briefs, tugging them down over his thighs and off, throwing them onto the floor with the rest of the clothing. Chase and Corey are kissing again when he looks back up, Chase’s hand in his Corey’s hair, guiding his head. They look good together. Kiké doesn’t usually get embarrassed or let himself feel left out, but he doesn’t usually get crushes on his teammates either. He watches Corey relax as they kiss, the way Chase keeps guiding him, putting Corey’s hands flat on the mattress at his sides, his back straight against the headboard.

Kiké should have asked Chase why he wanted to do this, but he was too eager to be here to question it.

“You’re sure you want us both to fuck you?” Kiké asks, and something about his tone makes Chase look up. He seems surprised, but most people don’t expect Kiké to be anything other than what he is in the dugout — cheerful, outgoing, down for anything. Kiké _is_ what he is the dugout, but he’s also more than that. He cares about what happens here.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Chase says. “Is that still okay?”

Kiké looks at Corey’s face, kiss-stupid, at Chase’s mussed up hair, and he shrugs. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Chase says. “Come here.”

Kiké knee-walks his way up the mattress, and Chase’s hand curls around his bicep, tugging him in until they’re kissing again. It’s different than before, sloppier, but somehow that’s better. He feels fingers on his waist, and when he looks down, Corey is touching him. He’s smiling, crooked, the stubby nubs of his fingernails scratching over Kiké’s skin.

“We’re doing this?” Kiké asks.

“We’re doing this,” Corey says. He’s back on solid ground, not so nervous he’s going to shatter apart. The wonders of Chase’s mouth and confident urging. Kiké catches his hand and winds their fingers together, squeezing, while Chase tugs at Kiké’s underwear until he’s as naked as they are.

This time Chase is the one to straddle Corey, and Kiké has to laugh at the way Corey’s breath catches, his free hand tentatively coming down on Chase’s hip.

“You have to tell me if I hurt you,” Chase says. “Tell us.”

Corey laughs, breathless. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“I’m serious.” Chase wraps a hand around Corey’s dick and strokes, making Corey hiss and arch up, fingers tightening around Kiké’s. “The team needs you.”

“Unless Manny re-signs,” Kiké says. “But we’d still like you back anyway.”

Corey snorts, which is about as indignant as he can sound with Chase’s fingers rubbing over the head of his dick, spreading the precome there. He seems okay, not as overwhelmed as before, but Kiké is keeping an eye out. Chase didn’t ask him to, but Kiké wonders if he knew that Kiké would anyway.

The point here is to make Chase feel good. To give him a sendoff, if he really is leaving, or something to look forward to if he stays.

“Kiké,” Chase says, and then tosses something over to him — a tube of lube. Chase turns enough to look at him, eyebrows raised. “I’m going to need your help.”

Which — fuck. Kiké will manage. He’ll have to, because now Chase is settling himself over Corey’s lap, reaching back, rubbing the lube he apparently squeezed onto his hand over Corey’s dick and holding it steady while he sinks down. It’s one of the most amazing things Kiké has ever seen, and baseball has provided more than a few miracles.

“God,” Corey says. His voice breaks in the middle. “Holy fuck.”

“Just getting started,” Chase says, but even he sounds winded.

“You’re – Jesus, you’re so wet.” Corey is spitting out words like he can’t help himself, his hand clutching at Kiké so tight. “I thought about this so much.”

“I figured,” Chase says. “Kiké?”

“Present,” Kiké says, trying to be glib and missing the mark. He can’t help reaching forward and palming Chase’s ass, spreading his cheeks enough to see where Corey is pushed inside him. The shiny slick of lube leaking out.

Chase shifts forward, leaning in to kiss Corey’s cheek, his mouth. Corey’s eyes are squeezed shut, and Kiké experimentally rubs his fingers around the rim of Chase’s hole, putting pressure there. He’s rewarded when they both groan.

He wishes he could see Chase’s face, but the view from here isn’t terrible either.

Chase goes slow, rising up and lowering back down, punching needy noises out of Corey, getting used to the stretch. It doesn’t seem like too much; he did a good job preparing himself.

“I’m ready,” Chase says, and Kiké knows that’s for him. It feels like a lot of responsibility — like Chase trusts him. He picks up the bottle of lube and squirts a healthy amount onto his fingers, rubbing it around to warm it up.

“Have you done this before?” Kiké asks, not because he’s worried but because he wants to know. He wants to imagine it.

“Yeah,” Chase says, and then chokes off a noise as Kiké presses a slick finger against the rim of his hole, slowly sliding in next to Corey’s dick. It’s not too difficult, given how Chase worked himself open, but there’s a ways to go. “But not since I left Philly.”

“Kiké,” Corey says. “I can feel you.”

“There’s more where that came from,” Kiké says. He wriggles his finger around and then starts in with two. He expects Chase or Corey to talk to him but they don’t except for scattered curses as he works his fingers in and back out, spreads them, stretching Chase. He listens to them breathe: the staccato of Corey’s breath when Kiké’s fingers stroke up alongside his dick, Chase’s measured exhale when Kiké eases a third finger inside.

Kiké tries to commit all of it to memory — the slick, wet sound of his fingers moving, the heat against and underneath his skin. The sweat beading between Chase’s shoulder blades and how Corey’s fingernails dig into Kiké’s hand where they’re still connected. If he only gets this once he wants to remember it.

“Can I?” Kiké asks, eventually.

Chase shudders, and Kiké can hear him swallow. “Yeah, fuck — go on, I’m ready.”

Kiké bites his lip — neither of them can see him, watch him wrestle with the actuality of what they’re doing, and he’s grateful for that. He wishes he could kiss one of them, but this position is easier, and he’s already pushed three fingers inside Chase alongside Corey’s dick. He’s not backing out now.

He pushes himself up and closer in, putting his and Corey’s joined hands on Chase’s waist. Chase is so tight when Kiké lines up and starts to sink inside, pressing the head of his dick past the rim and slowly, slowly pushing forward. Chase clenches, groaning, before forcing himself to relax, and it’s almost more than Kiké can take. Corey curses fervently under his breath, hips working up, Chase riding the movement as best he can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kiké says, pushing his forehead against the back of Chase’s shoulder.

“C’mon,” Chase says, laughing dry and breathless. “C’mon, Kiké, please.”

“I — yeah, hold on,” Kiké says, but he presses forward, inching in until he bottoms out, his dick sliding against Corey’s, both of them inside Chase — fuck. _Inside_ him. He’s so tight.

Kiké’s nose is digging into Chase’s spine, his fingers vice-tight on Corey’s hand, both of them clutching at Chase’s waist. It’s all too much.

“Kiké, Jesus Christ,” Corey says, a croak. “You’re really the only one who can move.”

“I can’t,” Kiké says, because he knows he’ll come if he does, and he wants — he wants more.

“You can,” Chase says, and it’s his fucking coach voice, the one he’s going to use on them all the time if he stays, the one he tries during batting practice. Kiké is trained to listen to that voice, and his hips stutter, trying — trying to please Chase, probably. He wonders if he’ll get hard listening to it after this.

“I’m gonna come too fast,” he says, and Corey laughs at him.

“Sure, with that attitude,” Corey says, like he’s not breathless and sweaty and fucking his literal idol. Like he wasn’t teetering on the edge of a panic attack fifteen minutes ago. “Suck it up.”

“Wow,” Kiké says. “Rude.”

“Kiké,” Chase says, rolling his hips back, and Kiké bites into Chase’s shoulder to muffle the sound he almost makes. Chase shudders underneath him, and maybe it’s the bite, or maybe it’s Corey and Kiké inside him, but either way Kiké wants to feel it again. He takes a deep breath and starts to move.

It’s too tight to fuck Chase that hard, but Kiké doesn’t need much — just the squelch of lube, the hot, wet slide, is enough. He hears Corey’s croaking gasps. Chase moves with him, and it feels like victory to work a moan out of him. He bends down to kiss Corey again and Kiké looks at the arch of his back, slippery with sweat, listens to the sounds their mouths make, sloppy, as they kiss. Corey squeezes his hand, and Kiké presses his lips against the side of Chase’s neck and tries not to wish he were in Corey’s place. It’s good, it’s so, so good, but he thinks it anyway. All of Chase’s attention on him.

There’s no point in dwelling on it, not when Chase’s hips are pressing back and forward between them, not when the noises they’re both making are so good. Not when he can feel the hardness of Corey’s dick slide against his as he moves. Chase trusts him with this, and that has to be enough. It’s certainly something.

They work up a good rhythm, the smacking, sucking sounds of sex loud in the otherwise quiet room. It takes longer than Kiké expects, but Corey comes first, hips arching, whining, saying, “Oh, oh, oh.” His eyes squeezed shut. Kiké watches a tear escape and trickle down his cheek, but most of all Kiké can feel the way his dick kicks, pressed so close to Kiké’s. It’s weird and amazing, and the slide gets wetter with his come.

“I gotta –” Corey says, slumping back down onto the bed, and Kiké thinks about letting him pull out, but Chase growls, this low noise in his throat, and wraps a hand around his own dick.

“You can ride it out,” Chase says. It’s that _voice_. “C’mon, Corey.”

“Fuck,” Corey says, but he doesn’t actually protest. He does choke off a noise when Kiké starts moving, but Kiké isn’t sure he can stop again until he comes. He feels it building, like a hook in his gut, tugging him forward.

Kiké can’t see much of Chase’s dick, but he can see the movement of Chase’s arm. He scrapes his teeth over Chase’s neck, careful not to leave a real mark, even though he’s not sure it matters, and feels Chase clench around them again.

“Chase,” Corey says. “Aren’t you – can I –”

He doesn’t wait for Chase to reply before puts his free hand over Chase’s, both of them jerking him off together. Chase is close now, Kiké can tell in the uneven movement of his hips and the flush that’s spread over the back of his neck, but he’s not expecting how tightly Chase clenches around him when he comes. It’s enough to make Kiké groan and press himself as close to Chase as he can get. He gets two more, erratic, jerky thrusts in before he’s coming too, getting Chase even sloppier. Chase is going to be so messy when they pull out, stretched and full of come. He wishes he could have seen Chase’s face, but he watches the muscles in Chase’s back flex as he shudders through the aftershocks, and he thinks that he’ll always have this. This moment right here, where he felt Chase‘s orgasm. Where he helped make it happen.

“God,” Chase says, and gingerly slides off, letting both Corey and Kiké slip out of him. Kiké flops back onto the bed and cautiously pulls his fingers out of Corey’s grip. They’re numb and tingly from the pressure, the feeling returning to them slowly. It’s easy to lie there and breathe and stare at the ceiling, contemplating the fact that this actually happened.

“Oh, fuck,” Corey says, eventually, and Kiké rolls his head to look over. Corey’s hands are both covering his face, his chest so red. When Chase reaches out, cautious, and pushes the hair off of Corey’s forehead, something about it make Kiké’s chest twist. He gets it, Corey needs the extra attention, but he’s slightly jealous of how much Corey got to kiss Chase, how he got to touch Chase’s dick and see his face when he came. And now — well. Kiké didn’t feel much like a third wheel until just this moment.

“Deep breaths, Corey,” Kiké says, and watches Corey’s chest expand, shuddering, when he listens. Chase appears to have him under control, so it seems safe to add, “I’m gonna clean up a little, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Chase says, but he glances Kiké’s way, mouth in a firm line. So not entirely unsuspicious, then. Oh well. He needs the space, so he’ll take what he can get. “The bathroom is just down the hall.”

“Cool,” Kiké says, and pushes himself up off the bed, his legs shaking with that post-orgasm wobble. He doesn’t do anything stupid like grab his clothes — a major red flag — so it’s possible that while he cleans up they’ll get their talking, or whatever, over with, and then it’ll seem normal for Kiké to go home.

The bathroom is larger than a hall bathroom has any right to be, and Chase left the lube he was using to stretch himself open out on the counter. Kiké sticks it in the mirror cabinet before turning on the shower.

Mostly, he thinks, it’s that he’s not used to really looking up to someone like he does Chase. It’s the kind of crush he doesn’t usually have. He’s always vied for Chase’s attention, and been pleased when he’s gotten it. He doesn’t regret being here, but it’s a reminder that Kiké is fully capable of wanting things he can’t have, even when he’s sure he knows better. It’s harder to push that aside when he’s not calming Corey down or actively fucking Chase.

“This is stupid,” he says, out loud, because that’s the kind of person he is. He should be back in the bedroom enjoying the afterglow.

He hurriedly scrubs himself down with body wash and then steals some of Chase’s shampoo — Chase’s guest shampoo, anyway, it smells very floral — and it’s when he’s rinsing it out of his hair that he hears the door open.

“I didn’t think you were going to take a whole shower,” Chase says, and then he’s sliding the glass door open and stepping into the stall behind Kiké. “Corey got worried you drowned.”

“I guess I should have let you go first, huh? Given all the jizz.” Kiké sluices the water over his head, and then turns around to face Chase. Chase is giving him a considering, even look. There actually is a small mark on his neck from Kiké’s mouth, though it looks like it’ll fade fast.

“You kind of left in a hurry,” he says. It’s not a question, technically, but Kiké knows he’s asking.

“I’m cool,” he says.

“Are you sure? I had you pegged for a cuddler.” Chase’s mouth quirks up on one side, almost a smirk, and Kiké rolls his eyes.

“I am, but this is more bodies than I’m used to.” Something about that must give him away, because Chase’s expression goes serious. He pushes forward until he’s sharing the spray with Kiké, until Kiké’s back hits the tiled wall.

“I didn’t ask you to be here as an extra,” Chase says, and then kisses him, softer than before, and less precise. It’s not leading to anything and it doesn’t feel like it should be. It’s just a kiss. Kiké gives in, because why wouldn’t he, and opens his mouth when Chase presses in with his tongue, Chase’s hand sliding over Kiké’s wet ribcage.

They kiss for longer than Kiké expects, until his bones feel like gelatin, and his mouth is sensitive, humming from the press of Chase’s lips. It feels different than in the bedroom, or in the hotel, or in the hallway. It feels indulgent.

When Chase pulls away he reaches past Kiké’s shoulder and turns the water off. It’s not a very subtle signal, and even less subtle is the way he pulls Kiké out of the shower stall with a hand around his wrist. He hands Kiké a towel from the rack by the door but doesn’t actually let him pause to dry off, just tugs open the door to the bathroom and leads Kiké back down the hall.

Kiké rubs himself down with the towel as best he can while letting Chase drag him along, and then once they’re at the door to the guest bedroom he drops it on the floor outside.

“Took you long enough,” Corey says. He doesn’t appear to have moved much, but he does seem calmer. He makes grabby hands for them once they’re past the threshold. Kiké assumes Chase will go to him, but instead he nudges Kiké forward and Corey finishes the job, tugging him down onto the bed. Kiké manages to avoid crushing Corey, which is good because he’s still technically injured.

“You’re gonna get me all sticky,” Kiké says, but he lets Corey align their bodies, and lets Corey nudge at his head until Kiké turns and they can kiss.

“Tough shit,” Corey says, when he pulls back.

“The master shower can easily fit three people,” Chase says, blasé, like that’s nothing, and slides into the bed behind Kiké. It’s a tight squeeze, but they’ve already fucked, so personal space isn’t really an issue. His fits his hand over Kiké’s waist, and Kiké has to wonder if they’ve stuck him in the middle on purpose. If they know how much he likes that. He supposes that it doesn’t really matter.

“Are we napping?” Kiké asks.

“We’re cuddling,” Chase says.

“And saving our energy for round two,” Corey says, and wriggles until he can slide his leg — the uninjured hip — between Kiké’s.

“Okay,” Kiké says. He knows when he’s been beaten. “Wake me up when that happens.”

Chase laughs, a low chuckle, and Corey huffs a breath against Kiké’s cheek. Kiké wasn’t expecting this, but maybe he should have. He underestimated them. He’s grateful for that. Thanking them seems like too much, but he doesn’t think he has to. All he has to do is stay right where he is, between their warm, solid bodies, and wait.


End file.
